


Surrender

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Exhaustion, Hand Jobs, M/M, Statement Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Jon should resist. Can't resist. Maybe doesn't want to.





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for this kink meme prompt: [Elias/Jon, dubcon, exhaustion](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=13412#cmt13412)
> 
> AU from ep 109 onwards.

Jon was led from the pier and into a waiting car, and he still didn’t know where he was. Not America, no. England? He tried to see, but black shapes stalked across his retina, conjuring dark visions in his brain. His head rested against a body, and an arm encircled his shoulders. He struggled closer. Better, the closer he got. Vision clearing, he made out familiar grey eyes and a rumble in his ears.

“Another favor to the Lukases, but your new friends will pay it this time.” Jon stiffened, tried to shy away as Elias brushed hair from his damp brow. “Don’t worry, they’ll live. The Lukases have many enemies, and could use their services.”

“Why, Elias, I—” 

A cool finger pressed against his lips, and he tried to push it away. But his arms were too weak. His tongue darted out, and he tasted ink. Elias shivered underneath him. They were in the back of a posh car, the front cut off by a stark black divider, driven by an unseen individual, or maybe no one at all.

“Shh, Jon. You went too long without feeding our master, and you’re tied too closely to go without. But we’ll remedy that soon.” 

No, he didn’t want to read anymore, knew it made him a monster, or at least something other than human. If he went without, maybe he could quit, like he quit smoking. A stupid analogy, but it was all he had. And Julia, Trevor, they’d thought it was worth it.

But what did they know, a traitorous voice whispered. They’d given themselves over to the Hunt. A noble goal, they might say, but they were no less monstrous for it.

Jon tried to shake his head, but Elias’s hand was on his cheek. The car rolled to a stop, and he was lifted in impossibly strong arms. Though Jon was smaller than Elias, the difference in their size wasn’t great enough that Elias should be able to carry him without considerable strain. And yet Elias’s heart remained steady as he walked towards the small cottage.

“Beholding give you super strength as well?” Jon muttered. Elias’s laugh reverberated through his chest, into Jon’s, steadying the beating of his heart.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Jon’s temple. His head was too heavy to turn away. And he didn’t hate it as much as he should.

Through bleary eyes Jon saw a long corridor, walls lined with dark and weathered paneling, and a solid oak door at the end. The floorboards were as worn as the walls. They should creak. But Elias’s steps left only an echoing silence.

Inside the room, Elias set him on a bed covered in a plush white duvet and down pillows. He should turn over, get off the bed, argue with Elias and force him to take Jon back to London. But the pillows were wonderfully soft. Only a minute, then he’d move. 

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep, because when he next opened his eyes, moonlight filtered in through the slatted windows. For a moment he thought he was alone, but the bed was too warm. Turning over with a groan, he saw Elias next to him, a neatly stapled packet of papers in his hands, eyes glowing oddly in the moonlight. 

A tape recorder clicked on.

“No,” Jon said. Far too feeble a protest as Elias lifted him, shifted so that Jon was lying with his back against Elias’s chest, Elias’s arms around his waist. It was only then he realized all his clothes had been removed except his underpants. Had Elias done that? But how had Jon not noticed? He couldn’t be that tired, could he?

Elias, at least, was mercifully clothed, though their proximity brought heat to Jon’s cheeks. 

“Inappropriate,” Jon managed, and Elias chuckled.

“I think we are far beyond the considerations of workplace decorum, Jon.” He lingered over Jon’s name, and Jon shivered, and shivered again when Elias held him tighter, one arm wrapped low and warm, the other still clutching the statement. 

Because that was what it was. Jon didn’t even need to read it to know. The room was too dark anyway, but with a sinking fear, he realized that wouldn’t be a problem. He already knew the words. They’d been etched into his soul, something not quite remembered but impossible to forget.

“You’ve gone too long without,” Elias whispered in his ear. “You need to feed.”

“You make it sound like I’m a bloody vampire.” The warmth of Elias’s body was comforting, almost relaxing. As inhuman as Elias might be, in terms of sheer physicality, he remained an ordinary man. And could provide the human contact Jon wanted far more than he’d dare admit.

“Not entirely incorrect as a comparison.” Jon felt Elias moving, hair brushing his cheek, then teeth biting into his neck. He gasped, but didn’t twist away, letting his head loll against Elias’s shoulder. 

“You don’t actually feed on blood, do you?” He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, and regretted it more when Elias laughed, jostling him and making him more aware than ever of the arm tightening low around his waist. 

“I’m not a creature of the Hunt, no.” He licked the spot he’d bit, and Jon held back—something. Protest, pleasure, he didn’t even know anymore. This wasn’t what he wanted. If he weren’t so tired, he’d run, perhaps even throw something. What would Elias do, after all? Fire him?

But the exhaustion made him loose and careless, and the sickness in the pit of his stomach eased as Elias kissed the shell of his ear, then said, “Read.”

The moonlight spilled onto the page, picking out bright letters.

“Statement of Jon—” He swallowed, then said, “I didn’t write this, I never—”

“Read, Jon.” The hand holding the statement was steady, but his other hand drifted lower, worrying the waistband of Jon’s thin underpants. His fingers slipped under the edge, sending sparks shooting across Jon’s skin. Too tired to struggle, too tired to care. Nausea rose in his throat. He needed this.

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding the feeling of being watched.”

He could feel it even now. Ridiculous, of course he could feel it, Elias holding him, breath still hot on his ear, hand rubbing circles into his skin, moving lower and lower. But the feeling—it was not the sensation of human eyes. And it was not Elias watching. Not really. Something older saw through him, and Jon began to stir.

“Knowledge does not lead to the cessation of fear.” A barely choked back moan, as Elias finally pushed his underpants aside, exposing him half-hard and sick with want. “It’s a lesson I learned young, that there are things you cannot shed a light on, dark and crawling, all-seeing and unknowing.” A cloud passed over the moon, and Jon had to stop as Elias’s hand tightened around his cock. Too tired, and yet he shuddered under the touch, and even pressed into it. “I know now who watches me, as I walk the marbled halls of The Magnus Institute.”

“Elias—” Jon hated how breathy his voice sounded, how tired muscles stirred to life under Elias’s clever hands and watchful eyes. But he was stronger now, so he lifted his arm to—what? Push Elias away? He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Not until he finished the statement.

“I want to know more. And I am afraid.”

If he needed further proof that Elias had something left of humanity in him, the insistent, hard heat at his back would be enough. This wasn’t necessary, Jon knew. The statement was all Jon needed. But Elias was a complicated being. And not all his desires were monstrous.

“Knowledge does not quiet fear, but ignorance does not cure it.”

And Jon might not be able to leave, but he was strong enough now to bat away Elias’s hand, to stop his insistent stroking. The Eye might watch ceaselessly, but restless hands could be halted. Jon reached down, wraps his hand around Elias’s wrist. Hair beneath his fingers, sweat, skin slightly cracked. 

“I run—” Jon’s voice cracked. Elias’s strokes were steady, too much and yet Jon did nothing to stop him, didn't want to stop him, not anymore. “—and when I am told that I feed a monster, I hide, shying away from consequence and inevitability.” Body pushing back against Elias, not to escape his touch, but to elicit a desperate moan from him, more proof Jon was not the only one effected. “Pretending for a moment that this fantasy is real, that there is a way I can stop what is happening.”

Elias’s hand tightened, but his motions stilled, just holding Jon in painful silence. He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. Wanted release, but wouldn’t receive it. Not until he finished the statement.

“But I am already the Archivist.”

One stroke from Elias’s hand, and he came, still not sure whether it was Elias’s ministrations, or the simple act of reading, of feeding the being that sustained them both. Before he could—ask, question, inquire—Elias let the papers fall, tangling a hand in Jon’s hair and yanking his head back to kiss him. And Jon went eagerly into the touch, opening his mouth for Elias, warmth suffusing his limbs as their tongues touched. The stimulation of endorphins, and release from stress, and the simple pleasure in human contact that Jon rarely sought, as Elias held him tighter and ground against him. Help, Jon should help, but while he felt stronger now, twisting in Elias’s grip was still beyond him. 

So he remained where he was, eyes shut as Elias took from him, and gave. Until he felt Elias stiffen against him, and then relax, pressing another kiss to his brow.

When he tried to stand, Jon clung to him, needy and still exhausted. The moonlight cut across Elias’s face, his hair disheveled from Jon’s grasping hands. And his eyes, oh his eyes—

“Stay with me.” If he didn’t ask, didn’t admit that Elias had given him everything he wanted, everything he needed, he knew Elias would leave. That was part of the game. Carrot and stick, to teach Jon exactly who and what he was.

Even with that concession, he feared for a moment that Elias would turn away, leave Jon alone with only the sickness in his gut, needing more and finding no relief. But he simply nodded his head and slid back into bed next to Jon, taking him gently in his arms. 

“What are you, Jon?” he murmured in Jon’s ear.

Jon was already drifting, soaring high and low and far away and seeing, always seeing. But he had enough just enough will left to respond.

“Your Archivist.”


End file.
